THE SOLDIER.
The soldier comes back from (he carnage and wreck; he’s minus an arm and a leg and a neck; ah, never again will he swagger and swing! He walks with a crutch, and his head's in a sling. As long as he lives he will sit by his door, and tell how he waded in enemy gore; and young men will list to his harrowing tale, and blush that they’re standing an wounded and hale. I’d rather come home from the war in a dray, all broken, dismembered, my head shot away, than stand around felling by day and by night that I was too proud or too moral to light. The soldier comes home for a season of peace, he carries his legs in a trunk or valise, his lungs and his wishbone were shipped by express, his body is filled with the keenest distress. But people will listen, their hats in their hands, to all his adventures in war-stricken lands, they’ll call him a hero, a soul, brave and true, they’ll praise him and bless him and give him a chew. Then sad is the lot of the bystauding wight who feels that its wicked and sinful to fight. The girls turn him down and the boys hoot his name; he crawls ’neath a culvert to bury his shame.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/MH19170522.2.27
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Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 1715, 22 May 1917, Page 4
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223THE SOLDIER. Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 1715, 22 May 1917, Page 4
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